Family Stories: The David's
by ZivaKateAbby4Eva
Summary: This is a bunch of random things I thought up, and they are stories from Ziva's family. There are four different POVs that I will say. ENJOY!
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, so this is just some random stories that are either in Ziva's, Ari's, Talia's, or some random person's POV. This first one is Ziva. Enjoy!_

A Friendship to Remember 

Her name was Emma. She was the new girl in school and I remember feeling very sorry for her because every student was staring, pointing, and whispering about her. She was extremely small, and very thin, and worst of all; she was a twelve-year-old girl with no hair.

Emma ended up in my homeroom. She was introduced to everyone that first day and was then told to find an empty seat. Emma took a seat two rows away from me, one chair up. She lay her head down on her new desk, crossed her legs and put her hands over her face. She tried to conceal her embarrassment but everyone could sense it.

At lunch, Emma sat at a table alone. I think she was too frightened to approach anyone, while at the same time everyone was too scared to approach her. About ten minutes into lunch, I decided to leave my table and walk over to her. I pulled out a chair and sat down. I said, "Hi. My name is Ziva. Do you mind if I sit with you?" Emma didn't answer, but nodded, never picking up her head or raising up her eyes to see me. Trying to make her feel more comfortable, I began talking just like I had known her forever. I told her stories about our teachers, the principal, and some of my friends. By the end of the twenty minutes that we sat together, she was actually looking me right in the eyes, but there was still no expression on her face. She simply looked at me with a blank stare.

When the bell rang and it was time to get to our next class, I stood up, told her it was nice to get to talk to her and went on my way. I felt terrible walking away, as I had been unable to get her to talk or even smile. My heart was aching for this girl because her pain was so obvious to me.

It wasn't until about three days later, when I was at my locker getting things ready for class that Emma finally said hi to me. "I just wanted to thank you for talking to me the other day." She said. "I appreciate you trying to be nice to me." When she began to walk away, I gathered my things and chased her. From that day on, we were inseparable.

This girl just captured my heart. She was loving and caring, compassionate and honest, but most of all, she was lonely. We became best friends, and in doing so, I set my twelve-year-old self up for the most devastated thing I would ever experience. I found out that Emma had cancer and was not given a very good chance of beating her disease.

For five months, Emma and I were the best of friends. We were together at school every day and then together almost every night to study or just hang out- and, of course, every weekend. We talked, we laughed, we joked about boys and we fantasized about our futures. I wanted to be her friend forever but I knew that it was not to be the case. After five months of being best friends, Emma became very, very sick.

I spent all my free time with her. I would go to the hospital when she was there and sleep over at her house whenever he was home. I knew in my heart I had to make sure she understood that she had become my best friend in the whole world- the sister I never had.

I was at home one Sunday, sitting with my dad watching football. The phone rang and my mom answered it. I could hear her mumbling and then she hung up. She walked into the room, her eyes red and tears streaming down her face. I knew instantly what had happened.

"Is Emma all right?" I asked. Mom's inability to reply answered it all.

Emma had been rushed to the hospital. She had gotten a very high fever. The news was not good. Her cancer was not responding to any treatments- it was spreading. Emma was losing her battle to stay alive.

Three days later, Emma passed away at home, in bed. She was just twelve years old. I remember feeling dumb, knowing that she had passed on, but not quite understanding the finality of it all. Over the next couple of weeks, I quickly learned the hardest lesson I have ever had to learn in life.

Not only did I have to learn to deal with death, mentally and emotionally, I had to learn how to grieve. I hadn't yet been able to do that. Then one day, her mom came over and handed me a box. She said she had found it in Emma's things. There was a note on it, saying to give the box to me when she was no longer here. I took it up to my room, stared at it for an hour or more, and then finally got the courage to open it.

Inside, I once again found my best friend.

Emma had put several pictures of her and me in the box, some of her favorite jewelry and, most important, a note to me. I began to sob but I managed to read it.

"I never knew the meaning of true friendship," she began. "I was always treated like an outsider, a circus freak. If anyone talked to me, it was usually to ask what was wrong with me or, even worse, to ask me if I was going to die. You are my best friend in the whole world and I will never forget you. If you are reading this, I am in heaven. Please don't cry. I'm happy now, and I'm no longer sick or bald. I'm a beautiful, happy angel. I'll watch over you every day of your life. I will be there for you during your first heartbreak and I'll watch with joy on your wedding day. You deserve the best Ziva. Never change and never forget our friendship. I'm so grateful God allowed me to know you. I will be waiting to see you again. Love, Emma."

Reading that letter change my life. Although she was the one who was sick and losing her life, she had taken the time to make sure I would be okay. She wanted to make sure I could cope with losing her.

Her death was the hardest thing I would ever experience. But I believe that God put our lives and our hearts together for a reason. We needed each other. Emma needed a friend, and I needed her strength and courage. Even to this day I thank God for Emma. I also still talk to Emma every day. I know she hears me and I know she looks out for me. Our friendship will never die or fade away. People may come and go, lives may change in an instant, but love and friendship last forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, this one is written from Talia's POV. I wrote this one like this because I remember how you always try to fit in and be accepted when you start getting older. Hope you enjoy this next chapter of this story.

Tears in the Bathroom Stall

As a sixth-grader, I began to notice how other kids were separating into cliques. (Even my sister, who was my age, so she was in my grade. She never let me get away with doing anything mean to anyone or saying something mean about them.) There were the geeks, the jocks and the popular cool kids. I wasn't sure where I belonged. And I think that was the problem.

Our teacher had assigned "secret buddies" for the coming week. The purpose of this assignment was to do nice things for your buddy without letting them know who was doing it. We could leave encouraging notes on their backpack or book. Our teacher wrote each kid's name on a piece of paper and threw them into a bucket, then we each closed our eyes and drew the name of the classmate who we were to secretly befriend and support over the next five school days.

By the middle of the week, everyone, (except Ziva,) including me, had turned this assignment into a contest to see whose secret buddy could leave the best gift. Instead of encouraging notes, we left stationary sets in our buddy's desk. Instead of giving compliments, we were giving bubble gum, lollipops and even money. It seemed that everyone was getting cool presents from their buddy. Everyone except me, that is.

My buddy followed our teacher's directions without a fault. I received handmade cards, notes with nice thoughts and countless smiley face pictures proclaiming that I was one of the nicest girls in our class. My buddy seemed to think highly of me from the notes that were left, but the lack of gifts made me wonder what was up with whoever had pulled my name.

On the last morning of our assignment, I walked into my classroom and noticed that there was a package on my desk. At last, my buddy had grasped the idea that everyone else had! I ripped open the tissue paper and just stared down at my desk. There sat a canister of perfumed powder. The girls sitting near me giggled and went off about the "old lady" gift that I had received. And to make matters worse, the powder had already been opened. I felt my face turn red as I shoved it into my desk.

I tried to forget about the embarrassing gift, but when I was in the bathroom before recess, the same girls that had seen me open the powder started talking trash talk about my secret buddy for giving it to me. I quickly joined in. "How lame," I heard myself saying. "What could my buddy be thinking by giving me such a stupid gift? My grandmother wouldn't even want it."

The girls laughed at my remarks and filed out of the bathroom. When they had left, I saw Ziva standing there. Her eyes narrowed and I knew that I would get grounded by her when I got home. (Dad hadn't remarried yet, so Ziva was like our mom. If she said that I was grounded, I was grounded for as long as she said. Dad always knew why I got grounded, of course, because Ziva told him before she grounded me, but it's not like he really cared.) Then Ziva stormed out of the bathroom also. I stayed to wash my hands and let the water run through my fingers as I thought about what I had just said. It wasn't normally like me to say mean things about someone, since I got grounded for about a week or two, just for being mean.

As I turned off the water, I heard a creak. I turned around to see one of the bathroom stall doors open. A girl from my class took two steps out of the stall and looked up at me. There were tears streaming down her face.

"I'm your secret buddy." She whispered to me. "I'm sorry about the gift." Then she ran out of the bathroom. Her sobs stayed with me long after the door had closed.

My secret buddy was a girl named Rochelle, a girl who came from a poor family. She and her siblings were often targets at school for those who felt they were better just because their parents had money. Yet through all the teasing and harassment, Rochelle never had a bad word to say back to anyone. She just took the horrible treatment silently.

I was sick to my stomach as my cruel words ran through my mind. She had heard every single thing I had said. And, once again, she silently took it in. How could I have been so mean?

It took me a few days, but I finally found the courage to face up to Rochelle and apologize. She told me that she had felt bad all week about not being able to leave any cool gifts for me. Her family could not afford it. So finally her mother had given up the one thing that was a luxury to her so that Rochelle would have something to give. Her mother assured her that the nice girl Rochelle had talked about would like that powder. Rochelle couldn't wait to get to school that morning to put it on my desk.

And I had ruined everything for her.

What could I say to Rochelle? How could she ever forgive me for making fun of her? Along with my apologies, I told her the truth. I admitted that I had only said those things to be cool, to try to fit in. I didn't know where I belonged, I explained.

Rochelle looked me in the eyes and said that she understood. She had been trying to fit in too. "We aren't that different from each other, are we?" she smiled. Her simple words, spoken from the heart, found their way straight into mine.

Up until then, like everyone else, (except for Ziva), I had avoided the "Rochelle's" of the world. But after that day, I gained respect and admiration for people like Rochelle- people who give from the heart.


	3. Chapter 3

This one is just in some random person's POV, this time, but it involves Ziva at one point. Hope you enjoy!

The Forgotten Friend

It was my tenth birthday-double digits-and I would have the biggest party ever. The guest list, which I kept at the back of my homework assignment folder, began with a few close friends. But in two weeks before that special Friday night, it had quickly grown from seven girls to a whopping total of seventeen. Nearly every girl in my fifth grade class had been invited to sleep over at my house for a big celebration. I was especially happy when each guest I invited excitedly accepted the invitation. It would be a night of scary stories, pizza, and lots of presents. But as I later realized, I would truly treasure only one gift I received that night.

The family room was a flurry of shouts and bursts of laughter. We had just finished a game of Twister and were lining up for the limbo when the doorbell rang. I hardly paid attention to who might be at the door. What did it matter, really? Everyone I liked from school was there, in my family room, preparing to lean under the stick held by my two sisters.

"Judy, come here for a minute." Mom called from the front door.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged to my friends as to say, _now who_ _dare bother me at a time like this?_ What I really wanted to say was, _it's tough being popular! _I rounded the bend toward the front door, then stopped. I know my mouth dropped open and I could feel my face turning red, for there on the front porch stood Ziva David-the quiet girl who sat next to me in music class-and she was holding a gift.

I thought about the growing list in the back of my assignment folder. _How had I forgotten to invite Ziva?_

I remembered that I only added a name to the list when someone had shown interest in me (like kids do when they know someone is having a party and they don't want to be left out). But Ziva had never done that. Never once had she asked me about my party. Never once did she squeeze into the circle of kids surrounding me at lunch time. And once she even helped me carry my backpack while I lugged my science project to our third floor classroom.

I guess I had forgotten to invite her simply because she wasn't pushing to be invited. I accepted the gift from Ziva and asked her to join the party.

"I can't stay." She said, looking down. "My dad's waiting in the car."

"Can you come in for a little while?" I nearly begged. By now I felt pretty bad about forgetting to invite her and really did want her to stay.

"Thanks, but I have to go. I need to babysit my little sister, make sure my brother doesn't blow anything up or shoot anything, and get dinner started while my dad finishes some things." She said, turning toward the door. "See you Monday."

I stood in the empty foyer with Ziva's gift in my hands, an empty feeling in my heart, and thoughts. _Ziva seems to do a ton for her family. Isn't her parents able to do any of the work? _But then I remembered, I had seen the custody papers of the students at our school when I had worked in the office in the seventh grade. Talia, Ari, and Ziva's papers all said that they only lived with their father. _Ziva would have been happy to get away from the hassle of having to take care of two siblings and cooking for four people when she's only fourteen_.

I didn't open the gift until hours after the party had ended. Hours after the games, the food, the ghost stories, the pillow fights, the pranks on those first to fall asleep and the snores.

Inside the small box was a ceramic tabby cat about three inches tall with its tail in the air. In my mind, it was the best gift I had ever received, even though I was never really into cats. I later found out that the figurine looked exactly like Ziva's cat, Seymour.

I didn't know it then, but I now realize that Ziva was my one true childhood friend. While the other girls drifted away, Ziva was always there for me, ever loyal and supportive. She was an unconditional friend who stood by me, always encouraging and understanding me.

Although I'll always feel bad about forgetting her, I also realized that I might not have discovered Ziva as an unforgettable tenth birthday party.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, this is Ziva's POV again. This one actually might be the saddest of all of them so far, so I'd advise tissues, just in case.

Heaven Sent

Making the transition from middle school to high school is always a tough one. Luckily, I had my five best friends, Kylie, Lanie, Laura, Mindy, and Angela, to help me through it. We experienced our most important moments together and shared everything, the good and the bad. Their friendship completed me. With their help, I went from being a shy little girl to a confident and excited thirteen year old. Life without them was unimaginable, or so I thought.

The unexpected all began on a beautiful spring day during my sophomore year. Life was perfect. It was a Friday and the weekend was upon us. I had no training that weekend either. After my friends and I made our plans, I said good-bye to each of them and gave them all a great big hug. As always, I told them that I loved them and we went on our ways.

Laura and I decided to go to the mall and do some shopping before we went out that night. As we both returned to her house, I noticed something very odd: both of her parents were home and waiting outside. I knew right away how peculiar this was, since even Laura seemed surprised to see her father home so early. As we approached the door, Laura's father quietly uttered, "Reality is really going to hit right now." My stomach sank and my heart began to pound quickly. _What was he about to tell us?_

Once I found out, I no longer wanted to know what he was trying to say. Seeking comfort, I looked into the eyes of Laura's mother but saw that her eyes fill up with tears. As she tried to speak, she choked on her words. But slowly the words came. The five words that would forever change my life were, "There has been an accident."

Images of the people that I loved raced through my mind as my heart began to beat faster. My first instinct was to retreat to denial. Nothing was wrong, nothing had happened and no one was hurt. This would all go away and things would be back to normal in the morning. Unfortunately, I couldn't run away from the truth. I sat on the edge of my seat in shock as I was told the news.

My best friends had been in the accident. Lanie and Mindy had walked away. Kylie, however, was in bad shape. I soon realized that no one was telling me what had happened to Angela. As I prepared to ask, I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Deep down inside, I already knew what I didn't hear. I tried to ignore my instincts. After all, Angela couldn't be dead. She was only fifteen! Then the news came and there was nowhere I could run to escape. Angela was dead. After hearing the news, all I could do was laugh. This had to be some kind of sick joke. My inner refusal to accept what I had been told prevented me from crying. I had no tears. I was just in shock, utter shock. From the moment the accident had happened, each of our lives had been changed forever.

As I arrived at the hospital, the first person I saw was Lanie. Even though it was truly Lanie, this wasn't _my _Lanie. The Lanie I knew was full of spunk. As I looked into her eyes, I thought I was looking into the eyes of a stranger. For the first time in our lives, she was out of my reach. I was devastated to see her in so much pain. She couldn't even speak to me.

As if that weren't hard enough, I was then told that before I could see Kylie, there was certain conditions that that I had to agree too. I was to remain calm and tell her that everything was going to be okay. The hardest part, though, was being told that I couldn't cry, because that would upset her. I quickly agreed. I just wanted to see her.

I walked into the emergency room to find Kylie hooked up to many machines. She was screaming and crying. It was beyond difficult to pretend that all was well when all I could see was the hell that she was going through. My heart stopped. She was in agony and I could do nothing but watch. As I told her that I loved her, I felt my eyes well up with tears, so I turned and ran away. Once I was outside of Kylie's room, I tried to regain my composure. If Ari saw me crying, he would tell dad, and dad said that if we wanted stay in Mossod, we couldn't cry. I hadn't cried since I was five, when I was taken away from Mom, Dad, and my older brother (Gibbs, Jenny, and Tony). However, I panicked once again when I found out that Angela's father was on his way over to the hospital to check on the other girls. My only instinct was to run, and that is exactly what I did. I was not running from him, but from the truth. I just couldn't bear facing him. I knew if I did, I would have to face the truth that Angela was gone forever. I wasn't ready for that truth. Somewhere deep down, I was still hoping that this was really an awful nightmare that I was going to wake up from any minute. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

That night all of my friends gathered at Laura's house. We consoled each other and reminisced about the times we had shared with Angela, times that we would have no more. At this point, I was still not allowing myself to cry. If I did, it would mean that I believed it was true. I knew it was true but I could not accept it, so I didn't. Later that week was the viewing. The once-vibrant young woman lay lifeless and cold. That was not my Angela; I did not know or recognize the person. What followed was the funeral. That was where the spirit of the Angela that I knew actually was.

It was a beautiful sight to see the community come together to express their love for her. The microphone was open to all those who wanted to share their personal memories or their love for Angela. Seeing all those people that were there to remember her made me realize that Angela had not only touched my life but the lives of everyone she came in contact with. She was my sunshine, and now without her my days were darker. How does a person live without the love, warmth, and security of her best friend?

I didn't think my life could get any worse, but I was wrong. Without notice, I was told that my biological parents would be getting a divorce. Talia, Ari, and I were to go live with my father. As soon as I heard the news, I automatically wanted to call Angela. After all, she was the one that I always ran to when I needed someone to talk to or cheer me up. But she was gone.

All my friends were still hurting from the devastation of losing Angela, so I didn't think that I could burden them with my new crisis. I ended up feeling completely lost. I bottled up all my thoughts, questions, and frustrations inside me. I thought that it meant that I was strong. After all, that's what I was taught to think. It took me some time before I realized that there was someone that would always be there for me no matter what: God. He always had a way of coming into my life with open arms when I had nowhere left to run. I soon learned that God has a mysterious way of working. This time, he placed a situation in my life path that enabled me to grow as an individual.

Up until this point, I had not let myself grieve over the loss of Angela. Simply put, I had been acting. I had put up this perfect façade that I was totally happy. (Mostly for Tali, since she was upset about mom and dad.) I suddenly realized that I had to let out my emotions and fears if I ever wanted to get over my pain. At first, I wasn't prepared for the emotional tidal wave that would be released. Emotions that had been ignored for so long were now being released, and I did not know how I was going to deal with them. I came to the realization that it was okay to hurt. (Just not in front of Ari, or he would tell Talia, and she would get upset.) That was when I realized that even though Angela wasn't physically with us any longer; her spirit had never left my side.

One day, after visiting Angela's grave at the cemetery, I came over a hill, I saw a beautiful rainbow. I immediately got chills all over my body. I knew that this was a sign and it instantly caused me to smile. To all of my friends and me, rainbows symbolized our friendship with Angela. There she was, as beautiful as ever, just reminding me that she was still by my side and had never truly left me. I cried, but this time it was out of happiness and joy. I knew then that I have an angel watching over me, now and forever, and her name is Angela.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, sorry if this one is a little confusing, but in the chapter: Tears In The Bathroom Stall, I said that Talia and Ziva were in the same grade. In this one, Talia is in fifth while Ziva is in seventh. Sorry for the confusion! This one is in Tali's POV again.

Keeping In Touch

Two years ago my sister, brother, and father moved following my parent's divorce. The day that we left, my best friend and I cried together in my empty bedroom for hours. I was miserable and homesick during the five day trip to my new house in America. Life was unbearable.

When we finally arrived at my new house, I ran to the phone to tell my best friend my address and phone number. We talked for a little while, but I had to hang up because the long-distance call was expensive.

On the first day at school, I called her to tell her how it went. Then, on Halloween, I sent her a letter and a picture of my family having our first American holiday.

Finally, she wrote me a letter. It wasn't even a letter-just a bunch of pieces of paper saying, "best friends forever".

When I finally got her e-mail address, I e-mailed her the longest letter I have ever written. I never received an e-mail back, and by the third e-mail letter with no response, my messages grew shorter and shorter, with each passing day, and I got angrier and angrier. I never received a reply from her. I didn't think it was fair, Ziva was on every sport team and club that the city offered, and she already had a boyfriend, Tony DiNozzo, the captain of the football team at the local junior high, where Ari was the co-captain of the same team. Ziva and Ari both went to the junior high for seventh grade, and I was stuck in the elementary school for fifth grade. Back home, the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth graders were in the same building, so it was called the middle school.

Ziva said that I could always call my other friends, that I didn't always need to call her. Give up on my best friend? Give up on the person that I had known all my life? The person that I had gone from diapers to Barbies to nail polish with, and who had been in the same class with me from the first through fourth grade? It figured, though, that Ziva would say that. She had it all. She was the most popular in the whole seventh grade girls, had the most popular boyfriend, and had a 4.0 grade average. She could drop friends at the drop of a hat and still have 500 kids who she could be with.

My first answer was automatically, "no way!" but after five more e-mail messages, three phone calls, and two more letters, and I started to consider what my mom had said. Every night for a week, I stayed up in bed thinking, _should I give up? Should I keep trying? _

The way I look at it, if I'm her best friend, she'd take a minute to push a few buttons on the phone, or type a short "hello" on the computer, or scribble a few words on a piece of paper. To me, keeping in touch is part of being a friend and is important. To her, it really didn't seem to matter.

After two years of disappointment, I finally got a phone call from my best friend. She told me how sorry she was for not writing, and about how busy she had been. It was so unexpected, I forgot about everything that had happened and how angry I had been at her. I forgave her. I guess keeping in touch just isn't her style, and it didn't mean she didn't care about me.

I came to realize that true friends never really lost their special connection. Even after two years, it felt like we had just talked yesterday. Now she and I write regularly-or at least she _tries _to, and _she tries hard._

What more could a friend ask for?


	6. Chapter 6

This is what my mom did to my sister, so I decided to take the experience and put it in the story. Only we have a mom and our dad is decent. Okay, so, another chapter for everyone. This time it is written in Talia's POV. Enjoy!

"One Day You'll Look Back On This…"

"I can't go to school like this!" I wailed as I stared into my mirror, hating my face, my body and life in general. A river of salty tears traced a path down my cheeks. Summoned by my shrieking, my older sister appeared at my side a second later.

"What's the problem?" she asked patiently.

"Everything…just everything!" I complained and continued to stare horrified in the mirror.

At almost thirteen, the problems that I felt I had were overwhelming. I had a hideous new crop of angry, red pimples that had erupted on my forehead and chin overnight-every night. My hair suddenly looked greasy all the time, even though I washed it every second day. My aching tummy signaled a newfound "friend" was about to visit once again, causing my jeans to fit too snugly and make me appear as though I had been eating nothing but hot fudge sundaes. And to top it off, my chewed-up fingernails were torn and bloody, since biting them seemed to go along with the way I worried about how other people perceived me. But everything that was bothering me wasn't just on the surface- I also had a broken heart. I didn't have a mother. My older sister was our parent. Our dad didn't care. The guy I had been going out with had recently dumped me in favor of an older, more developed girl. Everything combined, I was a physical and emotional wreck.

"Come on, now, Tali. Try not to cry." Ziva said with a smile. "I remember what it was like to be your age. It was awkward and frusterating, and I got my heart stomped on too, but I came through it-and so will you. It's not as bad as you think. And once you get with all your friends, you'll forget about what's-his-name, and one day you'll look back on this and wonder why you were so upset."

I knew she had to be lying. Ziva was perfect-in looks and anything else that she wanted to be. Trying to make me feel better, I guess. Convinced she didn't know what she was talking about, I gave her a dirty look and headed off for school, ignoring the ride there she always offered, greeting my girlfriends on the sidewalk while my sister waved encouragingly from the door. Later, as much as I hated to admit it, I found out that my sister was right. As I spent time with my friends who were going through the same things I was, my mind wasn't on my troubles anymore, and soon I was laughing.

When I returned home later that day, I was in a much better mood and because I had put my best foot forward, my sister rewarded me with a bag of goodies she had purchased from the drugstore. On my bed was a bag that included shampoo and conditioner, some acne medication, a gift certificate to a hair salon, and, surprisingly, some hot, new shades of nail polish.

"What on earth is this?" I asked, bewildered, thinking that my sister had to be out of her mind if she thought I was going to flaunt my gnarled nails.

Turns out, she had a plan. I thought that it was cruel at the time, yet it turned out to be highly effective. I wasn't allowed to have any of the stuff in the bag, nor was I allowed to keep my ever-so-important stick of concealer. The deal was for that each week that I didn't bite my fingernails, one item of my choice would be returned to me. Desperate to get my hands on everything in the drugstore bag, I concentrated heavily on my schoolwork, instead of biting my nails worrying about what people thought of me. Over the next few weeks, I was thrilled to watch my nails grow. By the time I earned the certifitcate to have my hair cute and restyled, my nails were so long that my sister also treated me to a manicure while we were at the salon. And as time wore on, I began to realize that I was getting through the rough spot, just as she had promised I would.

I liked that I received so many compliments on my hands and hair, but more than that, I was proud of myself for sticking to the deal and improving myself in the process-so proud, as a matter of fact, that I failed to notice my acne slowly clearing up. And I couldn't have cared less about what's-his-name. He quickly became a distant memory as I began to date many different boys, some of whom broke my heart and others whose hearts I broke.

Though it certainly wasn't my last acne outbreak, bad hair day or crushed spirit, I did learn something. I will hold with me forever my sister's words of wisdom: "One day you'll look back on this and wonder why you were ever so upset."

Years later, after several ups and downs in my life, I look back and realize that I did come through it all and I am the better for it. I only hope that if one day I have a daughter who is experiencing the struggles of adolescence, I will be as understanding, helpful, and creative as my sister was with me.

_There we go, finally. I've saw that this story is probably the easiest to write, maybe because you might be able to see something that could happen to you in them. Maybe this is a realistic fiction story. I don't know. Oh, well. __**Just keep reviewing! **_


	7. Chapter 7

_I got a lot of the info for this by personal experience. Here is another chapter in this story, this time it's in Ziva's POV. Enjoy!_

Big Things

It is an old photo. Sixteen years old past this July 31, to be precise. The Kodak colors have faded slightly. It shows a baby, only a week old, in an incubator and hooked up to an array of wires and tubes and medical gadgets.

There is also a brown teddy bear with a bright red bow around its neck lying next to a sickly infant in the picture-my first gift from my brother. The teddy bear looks huge-nearly the same size as the baby, in reality, the teddy bear is very small, measuring only about eight inches long. Now you realize how incredibly tiny and fragile the baby in the photo is.

It is hard to believe I am the baby in the picture.

Toxemia, a terrible collection of syllables, is what caused me to be born prematurely. When my mother was stricken with the condition, it was considered life-threatening to both of us, and suddenly I had to be delivered by an emergency cesarean section three months before the due date.

I weighed just two pounds, six ounces!

What was even scarier was that the hospital where I was born didn't have a neonatal intensive care unit, so a medical team of specialists had to fly in from the nearest biggest city to deliver me. Then hours later, they flew me back with them to their NICU while my dad stayed behind, because my mom had to remain in the intensive care unit for another three days.

When I was born, the chances that I would survive were small-as small as I was-but one of the doctors who delivered me told my dad that night, "Your daughter is a fighter."

I guess he was right. I guess I am. Indeed, sometimes when I'm facing a challenge, I think about those words, "Your daughter is a fighter," and it gives me strength. My personal mantra when things get tough, like in the late stages of cross-country, or when I climbed Mount Whitney this past summer, has become a 'PAST'-Preemies Are So Tough. Indeed, I am proud to be a 'preemie', it makes me feel special.

Not that it has always been easy. It's funny now, but until I was about ten, having my toenails clipped was so traumatizing it would bring me to tears. I still don't like anyone touching my feet. An NICU nurse recently told me it is common for preemies to subconsciously remember having their heels constantly used as pincushions to draw blood samples, so it makes sense.

There were also IV needles stuck to my scalp, feeding tubes forced down my nose, and monitors attached to my chest. I even had to be on a respirator while my tiny lungs completed forming.

The first month was especially touch-and-go. I owe my life to the dedicated doctors and nurses who cared for me during that precarious period, and I will always be grateful to them.

After spending ten weeks in the hospital, I finally got to come home. I was still so small and frail-not quite five pounds yet-that my parents had to buy Cabbage Patch doll clothes to dress me, because no company made baby clothes tiny enough to fit me.

It took a long time for me to catch up. I didn't grow any hair until I was over a year old. My parents say that even when I was wearing pink, people always thought I was a boy. I'm happy to say that doesn't happen any longer, and I have school dance pictures to prove it.

More seriously, my little lungs remained susceptible to bronchitis. Even when I started kindergarden, I still seemed to always have a bad cough and asthma.

But wait, my story isn't over. The miracle didn't end with just my survival. Hit the fast-forward button.

That tiny sickly baby in the picture has accomplished big things. People can hardly believe that I was a preemie when I tell them. You see, I am a perfectly healthy sixteen-year-old high school junior with no lasting effects of my precarious start in life. In addition to lettering in basketball, cross-country running and track, other sports, I am a straight-A student. I'm involved in the student body, and I even wrote the play my school's drama department put on this past year. And, this is the part most people can't believe: I am now five feet, ten inches tall! Yes, I have come a long way from the teddy bear sized baby in the picture.

My dad says I was a preemie because I couldn't wait to get started doing all the things I want to do in my life. Maybe he's right. After all, I was the fastest girl to become a Mossad officer. I am the first to admit that it can't compare my real storybook life to date.

I try to use my frightening premature birth as an inspiration and benefit. Every year on my birthday, I visit the neonatal intensive care unit. It not only makes me appreciate how wonderfully blessed I have been, but it gives the tearful mothers and fathers of preemies who I am visiting hope that words from a doctor can't. Hope that their sickly babies can grow up to be strong enough to win a ribbon in a 400-meter dash or finish a 5K race, that their fragile legs may one day carry them to the top of Mount Whitney, or that their GI Joe or Barbie doll-sized hands will one day be able to hold a pencil, shoot a basketball and swing a bat. Hope that their little tiny baby will grow up like I did and accomplish big things.

My personal hope for them is that PAST will become their child's mantra too as they grow up to have a big, bright future of rainbows and roses, ice cream cones and Ferris wheels, four-leaf clovers and proms, just like the teddy-bear sized girl in the picture-the girl who is now a young woman and not sickly anymore.

_I decided that there could be a chapter that explains hope and miracles to everyone out there. Experience helped write this story. My accomplishments were included in there too. Shh! Don't tell anyone! Just kidding. Tell anyone you want to express hope and a miracle to anyone you know who could use some._


	8. Chapter 8

_This one is in some random person's POV again. Ziva comes in at a point, so don't worry. In about, oh, I don't know, probably about the ninth paragraph, I'd guess. Oh, well. It was a guess. Let's just get a disclaimer for this story and move on._

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters off NCIS. I do not even own NCIS, sadly. **_

_There, I said it. Pft, forget me rambling, let's get on to the chapter, shall we?_

Call Me

"I know it's here somewhere."

I dropped my bag to dig through my coat pockets. When I dumped my purse out onto the table, everyone waiting in line behind me groaned. I glanced up at the lunchroom clock. Only three minutes until the bell, and it was the last day to order a class memory book if you wanted your name printed on the front. I did, but for some reason, I couldn't find my wallet. The line began to move around me.

"Come on, Cindy!" Darcy might as well have stamped her foot, she sounded so impatient.

"Darcy, please!" I snapped back. Even though we were best friends, Darcy and I often frusterated each other. We were just so different. Darcy had "budgeted" for her memory book and ordered it on the first day of school, while I had almost forgotten…again.

"Darcy, my wallet's gone." I threw my things back into my purse. "My memory book money was in it."

"Someone took it." Darcy, as usual, was quick to point away from the bright side of things.

"Oh, I'm sure I just misplaced it." I hoped.

We rushed to class just before the second bell. Darcy took center stage to my problem and happily spread the news about the theft. By last period gym class, I was tired of being stopped and having to say over and over again, "I'm sure I just left it at home." Rushing late into the locker room,l I changed and ran to catch up with my soccer team.

The game was a close one, and our team was the last one back into the locker room. Darcy was waiting for me as impatiently as always. She brushed past the new girl, Ziva, to hurry me along.

I turned my back on her to open my locker. "Darcy, I know, I know, we have to go."

There was a gasp behind me, and when I looked back at Darcy, her face was white with shock. There, at her feet, was my wallet.

"It fell out of her locker!" Darcy pointed at Ziva. "She stole it."

Everyone took up the accusation at once.

"That new girl stole it."

"Darcy caught her red-handed."

"I knew there was something about her."

"Report her!"

I looked over at Ziva. I had never really noticed her beyond the "new girl" label. Ziva picked up the wallet and held it out to me. Surprisingly, her hands were still. "I found it in the parking lot. I was going to give it to you before gym, and you were late."

Darcy practically spit the words, "I'm so sure." At her.

"Really, it's true." Ziva said.

"Of course, that's why I bet you have a criminal record." Darcy turned to everyone else. "I knew there was something about her."

Ziva's eyes grew dark. "Want a background check?"

"Yes, let's do that." Darcy said, turning back to her.

I reached for my wallet. I didn't know what Darcy was talking about. I didn't know what to think, but when I looked over at Darcy, her smugness made me feel sick inside. I looked over at Ziva. She was scared but wasn't showing it. I knew I held Ziva's reputation in my hands.

"I am so glad you found it." I smiled, "Thanks, Ziva."

The tension around us broke.  
"Good thing she found it." Everyone but Darcy agreed.

I changed quickly. "Come on, Darcy, there's just enough time for me to order my memory book."

"If there is any money left in your wallet."

"Not now Darcy!"

"You are so naïve!"

It wasn't until we were standing in line that I opened my wallet.

"It's all here." I couldn't help but feel relieved. A folded piece of paper fluttered from my wallet. I opened it to see what it was.  
"She just didn't have time to empty it yet." Darcy said, "I know her type. I had her number the first day she came."

"You had her number all right. Well, I have it now too."

"It's about time" Darcy huffed.

"Maybe that's the problem, Darcy. Maybe you spend too much time numbering people."

Darcy grabbed the note, read it and threw it back to me.

"Whatever!" she said and stomped off. I knew that something had broken between us.

I read the note again.

Cindy,

I found your wallet in the parking lot. Hope nothing is missing.

Ziva

P.S. My phone number is 555-3218. Maybe you could call me sometime.

And I did.

_Okay, just to be sure, that number at the end was fake. I just randomly hit some buttons on my keyboard to make up a fake phone number. If you call it, it won't work. So don't even try. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Okay, another chapter in this story. Hope you enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story, and I decided to write this story because of something that happened with a family member**_

_This was written in some random person's POV. Here we go, start of the story!_

Jealousy Ruined My Friendship

Ziva and I had been best friends for years, but I'd always been secretly jealous of her. She's smart and pretty and perfect and I…well, I'm not. I'm tall and clumsy and I get zits. I always felt ugly next to Ziva. Why couldn't I have her talent for dancing? Sometimes I'd even feel like I hated her for being so perfect. But then I'd feel guilty too, because Ziva was always so nice to me. I mean, it wasn't her fault she was perfect and I was this freakishly tall klutz.

It got even worse when we started middle school. And then there was this new girl, Allison, who was on my bus. (Ziva wasn't.) Everyone thought Allison was cool-except Ziva. Allison could be kind of mean, but she was popular…and she wanted to be friends with me.

I _really _wanted to be popular, so even though I'd have to dump Ziva to be friends with Allison, I decided to do it. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Ziva's number. She picked up right away. "Hey, Linds. What's up?"

I took a deep breath. "Uh…I was thinking that maybe we shouldn't hang out so much. You know, like we could still be friends by maybe not _best _friends…?"

"Oh." There was a long silence. Then Ziva asked, "But why?" she sounded like she might cry.

"Um, no offense, but you're kind of boring." She wasn't but I guess I wanted to hurt her.

"Well, you're…you're…not _my _friend anymore. At all!" she hung up.

Allison already had two best friends, so I wasn't her _best _friend. But at first that was okay. I got to be part of her group, and that was enough. I loved walking down the hall with Allison, knowing that everyone was watching us.

After I dumped Ziva, she started hanging out with Kelly. Every time I looked at them, they were laughing together, and it hurt. I was starting to miss Ziva. We'd been friends for so long, and I knew in my heart she was a much better friend than Allison could ever be.

Finally, I wrote Ziva a note saying I was sorry and asking if we could be friends again. I carried it around for three days, but then I got up the nerve to slip it into her locker. When I walked past her table at lunch that day, I heard Ziva say my name. I turned around and she motioned for me to come sit with her and Kelly. My stomach flip-flopped and I smiled so wide that my face hurt.

I invited Ziva and Kelly over for a sleepover that weekend. I was so nervous before they got there, but we had a really good time. After Kelly fell asleep I told Ziva that I was really happy we were friends again, and so sorry I'd been mean. She got really quiet for a minute and then said "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

Things went pretty well for a month or two, but my jealousy came back. I tried really hard to push the feeling away, but I couldn't. It seemed like Ziva was always getting attention for something. There was a time the teacher chose her creative writing story, not mine, for our creative writing magazine. And the time Ziva got to dance a solo for the recital for our dance class. And the time she won a citizenship award at our school assembly. Why did all the good things all happen to Ziva? When would it be _my _turn?

It got so that I compared practically everything about myself to Ziva. Her hair was prettier than mine. She got a better grade than I did on this test or this project. She ran the mile faster in P.E. Everything became a contest, and I was always the loser.

And then there was the thing with Kelly and Steven, this guy I'd had a crush on forever. I'd never told anyone, not even Ziva. I was afraid she'd think it was stupid because he was about three inches shorter than I was. Steven asked Kelly to go out with him-and Kelly didn't even like him! But she wanted a boyfriend, so she said yes. It made me so mad-it was SO unfair. I was afraid if I said anything, they'd know how upset I was, and they'd figure out I liked him. So I just kept everything inside.

I started picking little stupid fights, at first with Kelly, but then with Ziva, too. Or I'd try to get them mad at each other. I felt bad when I did it, but in a weird way it kind of felt good, too-and at least I wasn't the only one who was miserable. It was almost like I was on the outside, watching myself start all this drama. Part of me wanted to stop, but part of me didn't. I was totally mixed up.

Finally Ziva came right out and said she couldn't stand it anymore. "This friendship is over," she said, "I'm so sick of fighting." Kelly, who was right next to her, agreed.

That was the end of our friendship, and for good this time. I tried to patch things up with Ziva a couple of times, but she'd made up her mind. She just didn't want to be friends anymore, and I guess I can't really blame her. And, well, I know I caused her a lot of problems, but I made even _more _problems for myself.

After Ziva dumped me I was so upset I had to talk to someone, so I told my older sister everything. She said everyone feels jealous sometimes, and that the best thing to do is talk about it. She said that just admitting you're jealous makes you feel better.

I didn't really believe her at first, but since then I've actually tried it, and it does seem to help. Or maybe it's just that I've changed my attitude. I've stopped comparing myself to my friends. Because, really, what's the point? There will ALWAYS be someone smarter, prettier, taller, faster, funnier, whatever you are. I liked Ziva because she was pretty, smart, and fun to be around, and then I held those things against her because I felt like they made ME look bad. How dumb is that?

I know this now: Jealousy hurts friendships, and it's a waste of time. I'm done with it.


	10. Chapter 10

_Okay, this is the tenth story in this, so, hope you all enjoy! Here, let's do a disclaimer just for copyright reasons…_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Ziva, Tali, or Ari. I do not own NCIS. (If only I did…)**_

_Hope you will all continue reading! This one is wrote in Tali's POV._

An Unexpected Reaction

I hated my parent's divorce. Because of it, my dad could no longer afford to send me to private school and now everything was ruined. Instead of graduating eighth grade with all the friends that I'd had since I was six years old, this year I had to go to a public school with everyone a stranger with the exception of my two siblings. I felt like life was against me, nothing was fair, and I was determined to hate the new school and everybody there.

My vow dissolved on the first day at my new school when I met Ally. She was pretty and popular. Ally worse cool clothes while I, on the other hand, had to make do with Ziva's designer hand-me-downs. But the difference in our backgrounds never made a difference in our friendship. Ally and I had many common interests; we giggled and talked and even sand in the school choir together. We became so close, that in a way I felt like I had knew her even longer than my old friends. Ally's popularity opened doors that might have remained firmly shut to me in the preteen world of cliques. Because of her, I felt as if I had always attended this junior high.

One day, Ally announced that she was having a slumber birthday party. I was informed that I needed to bring my sleeping bag, pillow, and other stuff like make-up. My sister even bought me a new pair of pajamas to wear at the party. My first clothes at hadn't ever belonged to Ziva.

Finally, the momentous Friday evening arrived. I chattered non-stop to my sister as she drove me over to Ally's house. When we arrived, I bounced out of our car and, clutching my sleeping bag to my chest, I scrambled up the long walkway to ring the doorbell. _This sure is going to be one great party, _I thought, as I waited impatiently for the door to open.

Ally's mom, who always radiated perfection, opened the door. As usual, her dress was flawless and every blond hair was in place. At our school concert, Ally had introduced me to her, her mom had smiled and commented on my lovely voice. Tonight, however, something was different. I was surprised by her lack of warmth and I saw that the smile on her lips did not quite reach her eyes. A sickening silence descended as her pinched face faded and was replaced with a cold, questioning stare.

Then, she told me to go home. She said that I could come over and visit Allison tomorrow, but not tonight. I couldn't understand what she was talking about. Had I imagined Ally's friendship and the invitation? I started to cry. A queasy stomach was followed by my unstoppable tears.

"Mom, Mom, where are you?" Ally called from beyond the door. Before her mother could answer, Ally had rounded the corner and stood it the doorway. She had only to look at my tearful expression to see that there was a problem.

"Mom, what's wrong?" she asked. Ally's exasperated sigh and the gripping of her fists told me that this was not the first time that mother and daughter had had a run-in.

"Talia is here to visit," Ally's mother explained, "I told her to come back tomorrow because you're having a party."

Ally's face flooded crimson as she nervously glanced at me, "I invited Talia to my party, Mom. She's my friend, and I want her here." Mortified, I stood quietly as the discussion continued.

"This is a sleepover." Replied her mother in hushed tones. "I can't have an Israeli sleep in our home." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Why would my heritage matter anyway?

In an act of ultimate defiance and unparalleled friendship, Ally stood her ground. "Talia is my friend. If she can't stay, no one stays. I won't have my party without her."

_Was I hearing correctly? She was willing to cancel her birthday party on my behalf? _A look of agitated confusion passed over her mother's face, and then I saw her face harden. "All right. If that's the way you want it, go tell the other girls they have to go home."

There are times when words are pointless. I was choking with gratitude at this display of friendship. Then, I became suddenly nervous that the blame for the catastrophic end to the party could fall on my fragile shoulders. One by one, the girls came out of the house and quietly assembled under the cold, moonless sky to wait for their parents to pick them up. As Ally and her mother argued inside their home, I sat alone, while the other girls spoke in whispers and glanced my way from time to time.

On Monday, the canceled birthday party was the main topic of conversation at our school. Some of my new so-called "friends" looked right through me, ignored me and generally acted as if I didn't exist-except for Ally.

Even with her support, the intense hurt took a long time to heal. As junior high ended and we went on to high school, Ally and I remained close-despite her mother. Ally's living example of true friendship exhibited a maturity far beyond her age and taught me, as probably nothing else could, the value of a friend.

I hope that I have learned my lesson well, that I returned her friendship in kind, and that I have been the same kind of true friend to others. After all, wasn't it Emerson who said, "The only way to have a friend is to be one?"

_Hope everyone out there shows true friendship and has at least one good friend as great as Ally. Hope everyone liked this chapter!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Have any of you ever had a time when it seemed like no one knew what was wrong with you? I do, and it's not fun. Here is story number eleven of this story, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! This time, it's in Talia's POV. Enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer: The usual.**_

Medical Mystery

You know what it's like to need a hug-you just want your family to wrap their arms around you and make you feel safe and loved. But imagine that you're sick and scared, and you need that hug more than ever…but no one can touch you, because it hurts too much.

That's when it happened to me last year. It started with a pain in my shoulders and back. My dad said, "Your backpack is too heavy." But the pain didn't stop when school was over. It got worse, and spread to my neck, too. My sister took me to see another doctor, and then one more, but it seemed like no one had any answers.

I was tired all the time, and starting missing piano lessons. It seemed like every day brought a new pain. My legs felt like heavy weights, and my feet and ankles hurt so much it was hard to walk. Then it was my hands. Two months later, I was in pain all the time. I couldn't go out, because if someone bumped into me, I'd be in even worse pain for the rest of the day.

This SO was not me. I had always been active. I played sports with my brother, took piano, and loved dancing around the house with my sister singing random songs. I loved to turn on the radio and dance all around the house, singing with Ziva.

Now, instead of dancing around the house with her, I had doctors appointments. As the months went by, I went from one new doctor to the next-13 in all. With every visit, I'd hope this doctor would make me feel good again. Not that they didn't try-I had more than 50 blood tests and 20 x-rays, but the results were always normal. According to the tests, I should feel perfectly fine.

Since they couldn't find anything wrong with me, some doctors started to think that I must be faking my symptoms. My sister always asked, mad, "How could she be making up something like this?" I wished I could make them hurt like I did for just a day…or a minute, even. Being doubted like that made me feel so alone. Whey couldn't they see I just wanted to get better?

One day I was sitting in a chair and my leg started moving on its own. When I told my doctor, he acted like it was no big deal. I could tell Ziva and Ari wanted to shoot him in the head. But the movements just got worse. My arms started to move, too, even when I was sleeping. I was having seizures. I even had one at a diner one night. I was so happy to be out to eat for the first time in months, but as we were leaving, both my legs and my arms began shaking uncontrollably. I felt like an alien or something. It was horrible, but there was no way I could make it stop.

A few days later, I had a seizure that lasted 45 minutes. I could hear my sister and brother talking to me, but I couldn't respond to them. I could see that my siblings were scared. What was happening to me?

The next day, I had another appointment. I'd seen Dr. Z before, and he seemed super smart and kind. When I had a seizure right in front of him, he sprang into action, getting me anti-seizure medicine immediately. He listened to me and did everything he could to help.

Around this time, my siblings and I had also started doing research on the Internet. We read about people with Lyme disease who had the same symptoms I had. There was just one problem: I had already been tested for Lyme disease, and according to the tests, I DID NOT have it. Still, my siblings and I were sure we found an answer. The symptoms matched, and we lived near one of the areas where the disease is most common, and we'd often pulled ticks off our dogs, some of which carry Lyme disease.

We also found out that Lyme disease test results can be wrong. So we talked to Dr. Z, and he agreed that it made sense to put me on medicines that treated Lyme disease. In less than a week, I stopped hurting so much. A little while after that, I was able to run without pain. And then one day, my sister hugged me, and it didn't hurt at all! We were really happy, we cried. Even my brother did! I've slowly been getting better, and I'll be back to my old self soon. I'm even singing and dancing around the house again.

Being sick stinks, but you do learn a lot. Some days it was really hard to believe I'd get better, but I just kept telling myself I would-I had to. So I learned to stay positive. I also learned that doctors don't know everything, (they're only human). If one doctor doubts you or can't help, you have to keep looking until you find one you believe in. you can't just sit back and wait for them to cure you. You have to trust your instincts, learn as much as you can about what's wrong with you, and do whatever you can to try and get better.

_Hope this one was as good as the other ten! Hope you all liked. Remember to review, review, and review! It makes my day._

_Oh, and here's another thing: You should never worry about how cool you look-just hug your family whenever you can! : )_


	12. Chapter 12

_I am SO SO SO Sorry for not updating in a while, I was at a funeral, and then I just didn't start writing for a while. Okay, the twelfth short story for this story. Hope you like it! This time, it's in Ziva's POV._

Soul Sisters

Maria and I were the best of friends. In school, you would never see one of us without the other. It was like we were Siamese twins, going everywhere with each other, stuck together. Even if we ran out of things to talk about, which was hardly ever, it still seemed like we were talking, just not verbally. It was almost like a silent conversation. She always knew what was going on in m head without being told. To me, that's what I call a "true friend." As an example, one time for some reason I was feeling down and Mari came over to my house, and I was acting like nothing was wrong. I thought that I didn't show it, but she already knew.

It was like we were meant to be best friends. "Soul Sisters" is what we would call us. Since we knew we were going to be friends forever, we had a saying- _Maria and Ziva, Best Friends Forever! Nothing can tear us apart. Not years, boys, parents, distance, or fights. In our world, friendship is number one_! In every letter we would write to each other, this was our "P.S." it was true then, and still is.

I always thought to myself, _what would I do without her? _Now I know-I am living in pain, grief, and sorrow. My life seems like it has ended. But I have to know that this is better than having her live in pain from the accident. God did the right thing and took her back home to heaven so she could live a happier life.

It was July 8th. I was visiting Haifa, a town on the other side of Israel where we spent the summers. I was staying at my grandparent's house, and Maria was at her house, back home where we live in Tel Aviv. I woke up that morning and jumped on the 4-wheeler with my cousin to ride around the ranch. As we were coming up the hill, my mom was at the garage talking on her cell phone, with a terrible, worried look on her face. My cousin was at the back of the 4-wheeler, screaming with laughter and being silly. I was driving but suddenly felt numb when I saw my mother. I was worried that something bad happened to my dad back home in Tel Aviv. I parked the 4-wheeler and asked my mom what was wrong.

"Ziva, there has been a really bad accident in Tel Aviv," she replied.

"Was it Dad?" I asked.

"No."

Since it wasn't him, I wasn't too worried.

"It was at Maria's." she responded.

I panicked and hoped with all my heart that it was not something that involved her.

"I'm not sure, but it was either Maria or Charley (Maria's older sister) was run over by their truck and killed. One of the twins, Selena or Anela (Maria's younger twin sisters) was also killed. I think you should call Mari's house."

Even as my eyes filled with tears, my heart filled with hope. I was praying as I dialed their number that nothing had happened to my best friend. A girl answered the phone, and I started to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Shalom? Maria?"

"No, Ziva…this is Charley."

Hearing Charley's voice, I immediately knew. I knew that it was Maria who had been killed. I started to cry.

"Charley…is Maria there?" I asked with hope in my voice.

"No…Ziva…didn't you hear?"

"What?" I asked.

"My sisters are dead."

When I heard those words, I choked and fell to the ground. It was if the world had stopped and my life had crumbled into bits and pieces. For a moment, I thought I was the one who was dead.

"Ziva! Ziva? Are you okay? I'm so sorry…" said Charley.

"Yeah, Charley…I'm okay. No, I'm sorry too…"

"Well, I'll talk to you later." She said in a sad voice.

We hung up, and I walked outside to my mom. As I got closer to her, she asked me who was in the accident. "Was it Mari?"

I was speechless. All I could do was nod my head. She grabbed me and hugged me tight. "I'm so sorry."

As I hugged her back, confusion ran through my head. I didn't know how to act. I couldn't handle it anymore. I took a walk down the road. I thought of our memories and wondered, _Why did this happen to me?...to her?...to us?_

It was like she was perfect. She did rodeo, sports, volunteered at the gardens and took great care of her sisters. She was sweet, optimistic, loving and fun to be around. She was EVERYTHING.

I walked back and told my mom that I wanted to go back home so I could go to Maria's house to see her family. When we got there, everybody was there; they were digging a hole for her ashes and bringing in a special rock to place on top. I went to her parents and gave them my love. I sat next to her dad, looking at everything.

"No more your buddy," he said to me.

I looked up at him and replied, "Yeah."

Tears rolled down my face, but I knew she was up there doing better than she would be down here, where she might have been suffering. I just wished that it could have been different-that it wouldn't have happened to her.

The funeral came, and hundreds of people showed up to honor my friend, who had been such a special girl, and her little sisters. Then it was over, and the days went by. It has been very hard for me. At times, I still can't believe it. I often think that she's in another country but that I can't call or write. It's as if she will come home any day.

Two years later have gone by now, and I still go to her grave and visit her and her sisters. When I sit on the bench and stare at the rock on the grave with the beautiful flowers that are always fresh, I feel that Maria is with me. It's like our 'silent conversations' from the past, but without her body there. I now understand that my soul sister had to go back home.

Now I go through school without her by my side. Her spirit is always by my side, in my heart and in my mind.

_Hope you all enjoyed this story! _

_So hang on to the friends that you know are good and true and give them the respect that they deserve. You never know when God will decide to take them back home._

_REVIEW PLEASE!_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Okay, I know I haven't updated in a while, I have been having Cross Country meets and practices every day after school. Anyway, here is the thirteenth little story in this whole big story, or whatever you say to describe it. This time, it's in Talia's POV.**_

A Loving Sister

I'm a girl with bipolar disorder. That's when your moods go up or down way too far. Sometimes with bipolar, you feel so happy that you get kind of hyperactive, bouncing off the walls and jumping for joy. Then, within minutes, bipolar came make you feel really sad or really mad that you start throwing stuff around, screaming and stomping.

With bipolar, when a person gets either really, really happy or really, really sad or mad, they have no idea why they feel that way. They can think of nothing that caused their mood to be so extreme one way or the other.

When I was seven years old, I got mad at my sister for no reason. We got into a fight over nothing, and I got so mad that I threw my glass piggybank at her. Pretty bad, huh?

Maybe some of my anger was due to the fact that my parents had recently divorced and my mom and dad were not getting along well. My mom had been following my dad around. Then one night, she came to our house and attempted to hurt him, and he ran inside to call the police. At that point, she started to go upstairs to find me. I was asleep. Ziva had stopped her from coming to get me, because I remember the next morning, when we all came down to the breakfast table, my sister had a couple new cuts on her face that I knew wasn't from Mossad.

I remember being told that our mom ran away before the police got there, but the next day, she was arrested for harassing our family.

The next day, I was supposed to be with my mom, but of course, she didn't' show up. That's when I knew something was wrong. Ziva and Ari tried to protect me from finding out why she didn't come. They just told me that she had done something wrong and couldn't be with me. I cried every night because I missed her, and I became really depressed. Finally, I bugged my sister enough that she told me what happened that night. In a way, it just made me more upset because everyone had kept the truth from me.

Around that time, I had begun to experience these extreme mood shifts. First I'd be really, really happy and then the next minute I'd be really, really mad. Then I couldn't stop myself from crying. It was very confusing, and I felt like I had no control over my emotions anymore. When I would get into trouble, I couldn't understand why I was behaving so badly. I would later come back to my sister and apologize to her for being so out of control, and she would always say, "It is okay, Tali. You are forgiven. Tomorrow will be a better day." It was hard on her, I'm sure, but she tried to deal with it by giving me love and understanding. She somehow knew that I couldn't help myself and suspected something more was wrong with me when one say I got so depressed that I asked her, "Why don't you just get rid of me?" I had been so down that I didn't even want to live anymore.

She didn't think that my behavior was all because of what was happening between mom and dad. So, she took me to see a doctor who helps kids that have the same kind of issues that I was dealing with. It helped to know that there was someone out there who could understand me. It didn't seem like my family was able to do that at that time.

The day I threw my piggybank my sister realized that I had gotten so out of control of my emotions that I could be a danger to myself and others. So, she, my brother, and the doctor agreed that putting me in the hospital would help keep me safe while they ran some tests. It was there that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The good news was, once they knew what I had, they could find the right medication to help me balance out. While in the hospital, I also learned about bipolar and the challenges of living with this illness.

I felt so much better after I got out of the hospital. I stopped feeling so sad and then suddenly totally happy. Finally, I felt normal for the first time in a long time.

Still, when I had some bad mood swings after I got out of the hospital, I thought Ziva would want to send me back there as punishment for my actions. But my sister never wanted to punish me for doing something that I couldn't control. She explained to me that she never wanted to be away from me, she only wanted to find the help that I needed to get better and stay better.

Sometimes I would think about how my mother could have given me away because it was hard to deal with me when my bipolar was going on, but she is too much of a loving sister to ever do that. Instead, she was always behind me, supporting me with lots of love and patience.

When I begin to get a little out of hand, my sister watches to see if I continue this behavior. If I do, it usually means that I need to change medications because the one I'm on has stopped working. That's part of the challenge of living with bipolar. Sometimes, body chemistry can change, causing medications to act differently or the body just simply stops working with the medication and you have to change it.

Not long ago, I began hearing voices telling me to do stuff. I had to go to the hospital again and get off the medication I was on and start a new one. It was hard to face going to the hospital and going through another adjustment, but after being there for a few days and getting a new medication, the voices went away and I felt more like myself again-more balanced.

It's been five years now since I was diagnosed with bipolar. For the most part, I am doing well, and my emotions are more in the middle now and less 'way too up' or 'way too down'. I can thank my sister for helping me make sure that I don't get sick and out of control. No matter what, she's there for me. Knowing that, I can cope with having an illness that I'll always have to work at managing.

With her there, I can get through another day.

___**There we go, another chapter done. Whew. That one killed my fingers. I have not been typing in FOREVER so this is kinda weird…but, on the other hand, I know you guys want another chapter/looking forward to another chapter/liked the story enough to read it again so I thought I should post some new material…whatever applies to you. I can't say when another chapter will be up, there's just so much going on. I may be posting more and more after October 4, considering that's our last Cross Country meet…so…yeah, I guess. Well, anyway, hope you liked this chapter, and stay tuned to find out if I get around to posting another chapter! Be sure to review, and review, and review, pleeeeeeeasee! **_


	14. Chapter 14

_Okay, most of you know I'm also obsessed with Twilight, so I've taken some of the names of the characters from Twilight and put them into this story. Ziva is still involved, and this time it's told in someone else's POV. Enjoy!_

The Blue Darter

I stood in a corner of the dugout, making circles with my shoe, just listening.

"We gave them the game." Ari said. His "Team Captian" shirt was soaked with sweat. "We played terrible."

Jasper nodded and pointed his finger at Mike. "You call yourself a pitcher? You practically threw the ball right at their bats!"

"Everybody has a bad day." I said. "Why didn't you put Ziva in? Her Blue Darter pitch was just what we needed today."

Ziva looked over at me, and her eyes seemed to say thank you.

"Get real, Carlisle." Ari said, moving a huge wad of gum inside his cheek. "It's bad enough I let you talk us into having a girl on the team. The Orioles would've laughed us off the field if we let her pitch."

Ziva pulled off her cap and shook out her long ponytail. "The score was 18 to 6, Ari!" she said. "The Orioles got their laughs anyway."

"Well, the Cubs won't be laughing at us tomorrow." Ari said. He grabbed his mitt from the bench. "Let's practice!" Everyone tromped to the field.

"Carlisle," Jasper said, "you're our best hitter. Tell us your secret."

"Natural talent." I said, shrugging. I felt Ziva's eyes on me. I knew what she wanted me to tell them. I owed my batting skills to her-and the hours of practice with her grandfather. He's the one who taught her the Blue Darter. I never got the hang of it, but Ziva could whistle the ball off her fingers and make it curve crazily when I was in mid-swing. It was because of Ziva's Blue Darter that I was a good batter. But I couldn't tell the guys that. I couldn't.

Walking home, Ziva was silent. When we reached her house, she turned and glared. "You could have told them, Carlisle." she said between clenched teeth. "Maybe they'd have let me pitch tomorrow."

I glared back. "You want me to make a fool of myself? When you're not around, they're always teasing me. If they knew it was you helped my batting…" she looking like she might cry, but I kept yelling. "I got you on a team, isn't that enough?"

"This is not about baseball." she said, her ponytail whipped across her face as she stomped away into her house.

All night I kept hearing Ziva saying "This isn't about baseball." what did she mean?

Before the game with the Cubs, I apologized.

"It's okay." she said. "I guess it's not easy having a girl for a friend.'

The guys squirmed on the bench, listening to Ari. Ziva leaned agenst the dugout wall.

"Show 'em our best! No errors." Ari said, blowing bubbles between words. "Mike, you pitch."

I look at Ziva, but I keep quiet. We were first at bat. The Cubs' pitcher was good, but not great. When I stepped up to the plate, Ari was on third and Jasper was on first. I looked at the dugout.

Ziva shouted, "Whack it!"

My hands felt clammy. "Strike one!" the umpire shouted. I hadn't even swung.

"Concentrate." I told myself. The ball came toward the plate, and I swung. Crack! I raced to first, second, third, home! After the back-slapping cheers, the game took a downward turn. The Cubs' not-so-great pitcher got better, and our hitting got worse. Mike was still in a pitching slump. But the fifth inning we were down by seven runs. As we took the field, I grabbed Ari's arm.

"Give Ziva a chance." I said. The team stopped to listen. Ziva stayed in the dugout, watching.

"No girl pitchers." Ari snarled. "Especially not your girlfriend."

"She's not my…." I began. I looked at Ziva. This isn't about baseball, she'd said. "She is my girlfriend." I said. Someone snickered. "She's a girl, and she's my friend." I put my face close to Ari's. "And when you see her Blue Darter Pitch, you'll know she's this team's friend too."

"Let her pitch!" Mike said.

Talking all at once, the guys nudged Ari.

"let's see this Blue Darter." Ari called Ziva from the Dugout. "You'd better be good." he said.

Ziva stepped up to the mound. "Come on Ziva!" I cheered. "Show 'em your stuff!" she kicked dirt around, looking shy and not like a pitcher at all. The guys exchanged glances. Just wait, I wanted to tell them. They didn't have to wait long. She bent forward, threw her arm back, and whipped the ball off her fingers. It flew like an arrow until it was nearly over the plate, then it veered to the left. "Strike one!" The umpire called.

Ziva grinned at me, and continued to hurl the Blue Darter at lightning speed, just as her grandfather had taught her. The Cubs never scored another run. We lost, but the Cubs weren't laughing.

Ari came into the dugout and shook Ziva's hand. He swallowed hard. "You're a terrific pitcher." he said. He turned to me. "And you've got a great best friend."

"I know." I said, and looked at Ziva. "True Blue."

_Alright! There it is! Chapter/Story fifteen! Wow, I can't believe it's been going on for this long…oh well, it has, so it has. It'll just have to stay that way. : ) I hoped everyone liked reading it! Remember to review, review, and review! _


	15. Chapter 15

_**Okay, I decided that this time, I wanted to write a chapter that involved someone other than Ziva. So, I decided that I would write a chapter about Kelly's thoughts about when Gibbs went to Iraq. Only, this time, when Gibbs comes back, Kelly and Shannon won't be dead. Okay, so, let's see what happened. This is from Kelly's POV.**_

_**Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. NOTHING.**_

My Dad Went To Iraq

Have you ever had a bad day at school and wanted to run home and tell your dad about it, only to remember he's away for some reason? If you have, you have some idea of how I felt when my dad went away. Except in my case, he was gone for an entire year. And he was in Iraq, in the middle of a war…

My dad is a Gunny Sergeant in the Marines. At the time when he was sent to Iraq, he was commanded a battalion, which meant he was responsible for the health, welfare, of training of more than 800 Marines fighting for our country. I know his job is really important, and I'm very proud of him. My dad and I are also extremely close. I can talk to him about anything, and I know he'll never judge me. He's the person I run to whenever something goes wrong or I just need someone to talk to.

Even before my dad left, my family went through a lot of changes. First we had to move from Virginia to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. My mom didn't come with us though; she stayed in Virginia for HER job with Homeland Security. Then my "evil" grandmother moved in to help take care of me. Okay, she's not really evil-I love her very much, but she IS very strict. Between being the new kid at school, not having my mom around, and being a little afraid of my grandmother, I was already going through a rough time.

Then my dad left. I'd known the day was coming for a long time, but all the way up to the end, I just kept pushing the thought out of my head. That night, when we drove my dad to the airport, I was having a major angry spell. I guess part of me thought that if I got mad enough, I'd be back in Virginia, with everything the way it was supposed to be. I was so mad that I didn't even cry when my dad hugged me goodbye. I just watched him walk away, wanted so much to run after him. When I got home, I ran to my room and cried.

My grandmother had to leave me to take care of HER grandmother, and my mom wanted us to move back in with her, so halfway through the year, I had to move back to Virginia. I hated leaving my friends in Kentucky. And since my mom moved to a new town, I had to start another new school.

By then, I was really having a hard time. I was still mad at both of my parents-my dad for going to Iraq and my mom for not being with us in Kentucky and making me move back to Virginia again. My mom and I fought all the time about everything. I missed my dad terribly. And I was scared for him, too. He hadn't lied to us about the situation in Iraq. He's told us that the area he was in was relatively safe, but there was also a chance that something might happen that would put his life in danger. What if something DID happen to him? It was too awful to even think about.

Sometimes I'd feel jealous of soilders I didn't know, because they got all of my dad's time. But then I'd feel so guilty for thinking about myself so much. What right did I have to be angry, upset, and jealous, when my dad and all other soilders were making so many sacrifices to serve our country? It was all very confusing.

Through it all, I felt totally alone. I didn't talk to my friends about how I felt, because I thought they wouldn't understand. I felt like I couldn't talk to my mom because we were always fighting, and my grandmother wasn't close anymore.

Finally I started talking to Ziva, my dad's friend's daughter. I figured she'd know how I felt, because her dad worked for Mossad and she barely saw him, because he was working a lot of the time. Little by little, all the anger, unhappiness, and guilt came out. It was really hard at first, but after holding everything in for so long, it was also a huge relief. After a while, I also made two new friends in Virginia, Abby and Michelle, and I found that I could talk to them, too. I even shared some of what was going on with my mom. 

So here's what I learned from all this: When you're going through tough times, you have to find someone to talk to. Even if they can't change the situation, just being able to talk about it helps more than you can ever think. My family and friends couldn't bring my dad home early from Iraq, but they were able to help me through it. I'm not sure how I would have made it without them.

The day my dad came home was so exciting. We got up at four in the morning to go to the airport. As we watched him step off the plane, I screamed as loud as I could, but he couldn't hear me. Then there was a whole welcoming ceremony to sit through. When it was finally over, we rushed up to my dad and attacked him with hugs.

I'm so glad he's home.

_**How was a story from Kelly's POV. Remember to review, review, and review. Thanks a bunch for everyone who has read this and reviewed. You guys are the ones who keep this story being written.**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Okay, I decided that this time, I wanted to write a chapter that involved someone other than Ziva. So, I decided that I would write a chapter about Kelly's thoughts about when Gibbs went to Iraq. Only, this time, when Gibbs comes back, Kelly and Shannon won't be dead. Okay, so, let's see what happened. This is from Kelly's POV.**_

_**Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. NOTHING.**_

My Dad Went To Iraq

Have you ever had a bad day at school and wanted to run home and tell your dad about it, only to remember he's away for some reason? If you have, you have some idea of how I felt when my dad went away. Except in my case, he was gone for an entire year. And he was in Iraq, in the middle of a war…

My dad is a Gunny Sergeant in the Marines. At the time when he was sent to Iraq, he was commanded a battalion, which meant he was responsible for the health, welfare, of training of more than 800 Marines fighting for our country. I know his job is really important, and I'm very proud of him. My dad and I are also extremely close. I can talk to him about anything, and I know he'll never judge me. He's the person I run to whenever something goes wrong or I just need someone to talk to.

Even before my dad left, my family went through a lot of changes. First we had to move from Virginia to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. My mom didn't come with us though; she stayed in Virginia for HER job with Homeland Security. Then my "evil" grandmother moved in to help take care of me. Okay, she's not really evil-I love her very much, but she IS very strict. Between being the new kid at school, not having my mom around, and being a little afraid of my grandmother, I was already going through a rough time.

Then my dad left. I'd known the day was coming for a long time, but all the way up to the end, I just kept pushing the thought out of my head. That night, when we drove my dad to the airport, I was having a major angry spell. I guess part of me thought that if I got mad enough, I'd be back in Virginia, with everything the way it was supposed to be. I was so mad that I didn't even cry when my dad hugged me goodbye. I just watched him walk away, wanted so much to run after him. When I got home, I ran to my room and cried.

My grandmother had to leave me to take care of HER grandmother, and my mom wanted us to move back in with her, so halfway through the year, I had to move back to Virginia. I hated leaving my friends in Kentucky. And since my mom moved to a new town, I had to start another new school.

By then, I was really having a hard time. I was still mad at both of my parents-my dad for going to Iraq and my mom for not being with us in Kentucky and making me move back to Virginia again. My mom and I fought all the time about everything. I missed my dad terribly. And I was scared for him, too. He hadn't lied to us about the situation in Iraq. He's told us that the area he was in was relatively safe, but there was also a chance that something might happen that would put his life in danger. What if something DID happen to him? It was too awful to even think about.

Sometimes I'd feel jealous of soilders I didn't know, because they got all of my dad's time. But then I'd feel so guilty for thinking about myself so much. What right did I have to be angry, upset, and jealous, when my dad and all other soilders were making so many sacrifices to serve our country? It was all very confusing.

Through it all, I felt totally alone. I didn't talk to my friends about how I felt, because I thought they wouldn't understand. I felt like I couldn't talk to my mom because we were always fighting, and my grandmother wasn't close anymore.

Finally I started talking to Ziva, my dad's friend's daughter. I figured she'd know how I felt, because her dad worked for Mossad and she barely saw him, because he was working a lot of the time. Little by little, all the anger, unhappiness, and guilt came out. It was really hard at first, but after holding everything in for so long, it was also a huge relief. After a while, I also made two new friends in Virginia, Abby and Michelle, and I found that I could talk to them, too. I even shared some of what was going on with my mom. 

So here's what I learned from all this: When you're going through tough times, you have to find someone to talk to. Even if they can't change the situation, just being able to talk about it helps more than you can ever think. My family and friends couldn't bring my dad home early from Iraq, but they were able to help me through it. I'm not sure how I would have made it without them.

The day my dad came home was so exciting. We got up at four in the morning to go to the airport. As we watched him step off the plane, I screamed as loud as I could, but he couldn't hear me. Then there was a whole welcoming ceremony to sit through. When it was finally over, we rushed up to my dad and attacked him with hugs.

I'm so glad he's home.

_**How was a story from Kelly's POV. Remember to review, review, and review. Thanks a bunch for everyone who has read this and reviewed. You guys are the ones who keep this story being written.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Okay, another chapter. This time, it's in a random person's POV. Enjoy!**_

I Felt Like a Second Choice Friend

My best friend Ziva is smart, cute, and funny. She's also every boy's crush. They call her L.Z. which stands for Lovely Ziva. Some girls might get conceited if they had so many boys liking them, but Ziva's so modest she barely admits it's true.

One day I was having a really bad day. I was super tired. Softball practice had been tough the night before, and I'd hardly gotten any sleep. On top of that, I'd found out I'd gotten a bad grade on my history test.

When I walked into second period, three of my guy friends were talking about how much they liked Ziva. After I slid into my seat, one of the boys turned around and asked, "Don't you ever get jealous of her?"

I answered with a good solid "No!" and I really wasn't jealous. Ziva was my best friend. We'd joke together all the time about how all the boys liked her-like in P.E. when they would try to impress her, they'd usually just end up on the ground, looking embarrassed. Also, neither of us really cared about having a boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, we had crushes! We just didn't think that we needed boyfriends to be cool.

But not a minute after he asked me that question, I felt like I had been stabbed in the back. Because they truth was, I didn't envy Ziva, but there were times when I felt unwanted. And boys were just half the problem. All the girls liked Ziva too-and they all wanted to be her best friend.

A couple of times a week, my close friends and I would call each other after school and then meet somewhere. One day after school, I sat at home waiting for a call and got…nothing. I told myself everyone was just busy, but when I got to school the next day, everyone was laughing about some inside joke. They met without me! _Okay, _I thought, _no biggie. They probably just thought I had softball practice. _

But at the same time, it didn't seem to make sense. Ziva had gymnastics, figure skating, and dance practice too, and she was in on the joke. It didn't add up.

But as time passed, they kept meeting without me. Some "friends" would even lie to my face and say they'd called when I knew they hadn't! So as they got closer to Ziva, I got farther from them. I got annoyed, but I dealt with it. I'd just make plans to hand out with other friends. And I knew I could always expect Ziva to call later that night.

I also felt pushed aside when Ziva made new friends, like when she was the lead in the school play last year. I was fine with having them join our group, but there were times when I felt like they weren't including me in their conversations. When Ziva tried to involve me, they'd change the subject and steal her attention back. I would just keep telling myself that Ziva still wanted to be my friend and that I had to just want for them to include me again.

Still, when these things happened, I'd be hurt. I'd feel like I was some people's second choice friend. I was always second best, after Ziva. In music, school, friends…everything! I don't know why it bothered me so much, but it did.

So that day, I tried to avoid Ziva. It wasn't hard until lunchtime. In the cafeteria, I sat at an empty table, as far as I could get from our usual spot. Two of our good friends, Ronnie and Larissa, came to join me, and soon all our other friends joined us too, including Ziva. She sat right next to me, but I didn't say hi or even look at her.

When we were finished, everyone went down to the field to watch Ziva play football with the guys. I pretended to have to go to the bathroom. I was really just trying to get away form Ziva, but she came and found me. I still didn't' talk to her and just kept avoiding eye contact.

Finally, Ziva sat me down and asked me what was wrong. "Nothing." I said.

"Lindsey, you are my best friend. I know you better than this. Will you please tell me what is bothering you?"

I cracked, "I feel like an outsider when our other friends invite you and not me to do everything." I confessed, "No one likes me."

"You are crazy!" Ziva said, "I would be really, really sad if I did not know you. And so would all our other friends. Come on- I will show you." She grabbed my wrist and started walking me around the field, asking each of our friends if they liked me. They all replied, "Yes!" right away with big smiles on their faces.

That made me feel good. But it also made me realize something. My problem wasn't that everyone liked Ziva so much. My problem was me. When I was alone, it was because I got stuck inside my own head with my own negative thoughts about myself. When things didn't' go the way I thought they should-like when friends didn't call me or people didn't include me in their conversations- I decided that meant I wasn't good enough or that I had no friends.

None of that was true, but I'd been telling myself I was "second-best" next to Ziva for so long, I'd started to believe it. And because I felt like I was falling, I thought my friends didn't' have my back. I was so busy putting myself down, I didn't' notice that they were actually standing right there, holding the net to catch me.

Since then, I've learned not to pay so much attention to negative voices in my head. I try to talk things out with my friends when I'm feeling sad or left out. I know that if I do talk, they'll be there to help me-just like I'll be there when they need me-no matter what. Isn't that what friends are for?


End file.
